


Plans For My Valentine

by Lanyonn



Series: Arthur & Eames (Canonical) [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Cheese, Cheesy Eames, Chocolate, Domestic, Eames is love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, In Love, Love, Lovers, M/M, POV First Person, Red Roses, Romance, Smut, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, pink teddy bear, slightly oblivious Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanyonn/pseuds/Lanyonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is a Valentine-y guy? Fuck, that's news to Arthur. And Arthur is a shitty lover who has planned nothing for Valentine's Day. Will he be able to make up for it?</p><p>Or</p><p>Arthur/Eames' Cheesy Romantic Fluff for Valentine's Day</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plans For My Valentine

 

“I’m parched, Eames,” I croaked out, my voice grating to my own ears. My throat was painfully dry and the water bottle was on the table on Eames’ side of bed. To be fair, it wasn’t that big a bed, not for two men just short of six feet. It was a regular queen’s size because Eames had insisted that we didn’t need a bigger bed. Since that was the only actual opinion he had voiced in our interior decoration, I had given in without argument. Anything was good with me if it made Eames happy.

 

However, when my limbs were sluggish after a night of hedonistic drinking and my lower body still throbbed after numerous rounds of sex well into the morning, the side-table on the other side seemed light-years away. I craned my neck to check my bedside table again but it glared back white and empty, just as it had always been. No, the nearest source of water was just Eames’ water bottle and Eames was a dead weight against my chest and shoulder.

 

“Eames,” I implored again and pinched his side.

 

He grunted against my chest, his breath and beard tickling my skin, and rolled onto his side, taking me with him. I squinted at the sunlight pushing in through the cracks in the blinds over the window behind Eames. Well into the day, then. Eames wrapped his arms tightly around me, completely unbothered by the fact that we were too hot for comfort underneath the thick duvet since the thermostat was cranked up high. I used to like a little coolness when I slept. Eames was pushing forty but he was still just a big cuddling baby who didn’t give up even when we got sweaty. Now, for most part, I had converted to his sleeping habits.

 

When another bout of “Eames, I’m thirsty,” didn’t get any more reaction from the man except him nuzzling into the crook of my neck, his whiskers rubbing roughly against my skin, I extracted myself from his hold and climbed over him to grab the water bottle. I guzzled down the whole bottle and felt more human again. Sitting upright and not being quite as dehydrated as I had been a minute ago filled me with as much motivation as my current state would allow. I got out of the bed and squinted through the blinds to peer out of the window. The red-haired woman across the street was yelling at the group of kids playing in the lawn to come inside for lunch. So it was nearly one in the afternoon then.

 

I turned back and looked at Eames, still dead to the world. He had quickly replaced me with a thick white pillow. His hair was shorn the shortest I had ever seen on him. It was practically razed on the sides and but there was still some I could grasp at on top and in front. The scorpion on his left shoulder blade was a dense black. He had had it retouched last month. Eames wasn’t verbal about being mindful of his physical appearance. But he was obsessed with governing every little detail of his body. And it showed. He looked much better out of his clothes than in them – the horrendous mixes of patterns and colours, I had never figured out where he got them.

 

I felt the familiar warm fondness well up inside me as I watched him sleep. I pulled the duvet further up over his body and kissed him behind the ear.

 

Now that I was awake, I decided I might as well get the ball rolling. I took a quick shower and decided that I needed to use my shaver. In my middle thirties, I still couldn’t grow the facial hair anywhere as well as Eames. It wasn’t bad so much as it made me look like a cross between a wannabe teenager and a drug dealer. I guess I should be grateful I wasn’t looking old before I had to but it still gave me a complex. Maybe I’d work better with a goatee, I mused as I contemplated the trimmer. But Eames preferred me clean-shaven (he had no qualms about telling me to ‘lose the Jesus look’), so I decided that was an experiment for another day.

 

We had bought this double storey house almost half a year ago but the few boxes we had were still unpacked. The bed, a couple of couches, the TV, the computers, kitchen implements and Eames’ artistry-forgery paraphernalia actually constituted the major part of our interior decoration. I had never moved into an unfurnished home before. Plus, between Eames and me, Eames was the one who had the artistic tilt. Wasn’t he supposed to take care of such things? We spent a good amount of time here but I guess our heads were taking time being wrapped around the idea that we were doing this home thing together. Moreover, as long as I was with Eames, I had absolutely no problem using unpacked boxes as dinner tables and drinking imported vodka straight out of the bottle. My toes still curled with pleasure when I thought of it like that – being ‘with’ Eames. It had been quite a few years now. But the novelty hadn’t worn off. I had a feeling that the novelty would never wear off. It was Eames – Victor Fucking Eames. And he loved and wanted me in every way just as I loved and wanted him. He didn’t grow bored of sex with me and even after we got into nasty fights, he slipped beside me in bed in the middle of the night and lay awake till I turned and made out with him and reassured him that we were alright.

 

It was heady enough spending every day with him. Who had time for decorating a home?

 

Nevertheless, the house had signs of being ours – knickknacks here and there. For example, there was a digital music system installed in the bathroom, stereos and all. So that is much more than a simple knickknack but I had always wanted one. I had just never gotten around to getting one for my previous homes. Eames had bought it as a Christmas gift a couple of months back and even installed it himself without my help. It wasn’t that he was bad at installing electronics. He just won’t read the instructions and lose the manual before the whole box was unpacked even. But he had seemed to enjoy himself doing that for me so I let him. However, I surreptitiously found the ‘lost’ manual wedged in between some long forgotten unpacked boxes and then kept an eye out to make sure that Eames wasn’t attempting any of the don’ts.

 

There wasn’t a clock or calendar in the house but the bathroom music system came with an elaborate interactive panel which had both. As I brushed my teeth, I noticed the little digital red message next to the day’s date: Happy Valentine’s Day.

 

Fuck, I had completely forgotten about that. Hell, I didn’t even remember what month we were in. Things were just like that right now, happy and sexy and we absolutely didn’t have to worry about money so I hadn’t started looking for jobs yet and Eames had already found people who needed his forging skills but he was the master of his own time. I could pull him out for dinner or a drive or a mini-vacation any time I wanted.

 

Not that Eames was a very Valentine-y guy – I think. He was definitely big on Christmas (there were a lot of childish parts in him). But now that I thought really hard about it, the time he had bought me a new phone to replace my old destroyed one was Valentine’s. And the time when he had insisted that I was a barbarian for never having set foot in Italy and arranged a vacation in Venice, well, that had been in February as well.

 

I hadn’t noticed it till now. Damn it.

 

I got out of the bathroom and dressed quickly. Eames was still in the same position as I had left him. I must not have drunk as much as I thought because I wasn’t hung over at all. Maybe my body was used to be piled with vodka now – I was a vodka kind of guy. Maybe I had just been so thirsty because Eames had overworked me all of last night and even after dawn. Shit, was that supposed to be Eames being more amorous and amative because he was propelled by the spirit of Valentine’s holiday? That had been some crazy expensive vodka he had brought home last evening. I thought it was just because he was in one of his _moods_. Eames had these _moods_ when he wanted to dine fine, dress unlike a hooligan and even dance before we retired to bed and fucked senseless. I guess he was the romantic sort. And I guess with my panic over my lack of Valentine’s plans, he was rubbing off on me.

 

I hadn’t been out of house in a week because of the temperature drop. It wasn’t like California was a snowy state but I grew lazy at the slightest hint of temperature falling below fifty. Eames had been exceptionally willing to do the groceries and make the trips to the dry cleaners. In fact, now that I thought about it, we had had something special going on for a few days – was it the whole week? He had decided we needed to survive on candle lights the evening prior to last. I had pointed out the fire hazard but he had distracted me with kisses and blowjobs. Before that we had had a day long movie marathon where he had let me pick every movie and even stolidly insisted that _Rebel Without A Cause_ hadn’t bored him to tears even though I had had to kiss him awake four times. There had been no sex that day – who knew that simply watching movies could be so exhausting – but I had fallen asleep watching _My Own Private Idaho_ on the couch and woken up in the bed with Eames snuggled against me. Now even if I don’t boast of muscles like Eames does, I’m no mean weight to carry. The thought that he had managed the feat without waking me up at all made me roll him onto his back and take care of his morning wood the first thing. Yes, we had had lazy morning sex till we were too hungry to stay in bed anymore.

 

Shit, Eames had been onto the whole Valentine’s deal all week probably and I hadn’t so much as fixed a meal for him. I would remember. I sucked at cooking and while Eames was no genius either, he had been teaching himself for some time now and surprised me with homemade pies and roasts and pasta. He even boasted that he could make pizza from scratch. It was endearing. Now that I thought harder, I think the whole thing had started when he _had_ made a pizza from scratch some days ago with all my favourite toppings. Pizza was my favourite comfort food.

 

Guilty and nervous, I padded over to the kitchen and looked around helplessly. The fridge was stocked with bread, milk, eggs, vegetables, meat, chicken and a lot of bottles but I don’t think he’d find romaine and orange juice straight from the box very romantic. He didn’t even like romaine – vegetables were more of my thing. But badly cooked meat was even worse. I pulled out my phone and thumbed through ‘simple recipes’ that would qualify as romantic. What the hell was sautéing? I wasn’t going near the stove. Didn’t this stuff come in microwaveable varieties? Stoves were dangerous. They could burn a house down.

 

I threw my phone aside as a bad job. It wasn’t helping. Other quick Valentine’s gift suggestions for men had included ties (Eames liked ties but he liked _my_ ties – wrapped around his _wrists_ ), wallets (that seemed like a bad pun for the fact that Eames was a clever, clever pickpocket), alcohol (I wasn’t going to copy him), grooming sets (should I order his Old Spice from the UK? He had been complaining how they had stopped selling it in the US. But unless they worked magic, I didn’t know how it would arrive today), a plethora of gadgets (Eames wasn’t a gadget man), cologne (why? I liked the way he smelled. I didn’t want to change anything about the way he smelled), underwear (if it wasn’t kinky, I wasn’t going to buy Eames _underwear_ ), photo album with our pictures together (we didn’t have any pictures together – did we?), personalised cuff links (Eames didn’t do cuff links – he often wore short sleeved shirts under his tuxedo jackets because he got a kick out of how it made everyone else uncomfortable), personalised printed coffee mug (Eames hated coffee and I didn’t want him to ditch me because I printed shit over his mother’s precious china) and if I was going to be really cliché and trite, chocolate, teddy bear and flowers. Like I said, it was completely useless.

 

I could always grab the can of whipped cream and wake him up to some messy sexual fun but that felt horribly like cheating. Sex was the cherry on top, not the stuff cakes are made of – at least not the ones which are meant to be a thoughtful and loving Valentine’s Day gift to your lover. Food wasn’t my forte. I couldn’t think of anything he wanted right now. Well, he kept talking about how we could get a dog because we had space enough for a big dog but I wasn’t about to go and get one just because of my guilt over how I had turned out to be a completely shitty lover at Valentine’s. Would he be happy if I got him a big stuffed toy of a dog? He had a lot of childlike sides. No, that wasn’t quite it.

 

I peeked into the bedroom again and Eames had rolled over onto his stomach but was snoring.

 

Before I could think harder, the doorbell rang, reverberating loudly throughout the house because of how empty most of the place was still.

 

“Mr Eames?” asked the man at the door. I frowned at him. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Mr Arthur Eames?”

 

I stared at him stupidly.

 

He scratched his nose and looked awkwardly at me. He read out the address slowly.

 

“Yes, yes,” I managed to get out.

 

“Delivery,” he said, relieved and thrust a big bouquet of bright red roses at me. I staggered even though it wasn’t heavy. There had to be like fifty roses here though. “And this,” he held out a big _pink_ teddy bear towards me. I wanted to refuse it but the bear was holding a big box helpfully labelled ‘Chocolates’. I couldn’t shut the door fast enough behind him.

 

I sat down on the couch, the bouquet in hand as I stared at it hard, hoping it would explain its existence to me. There was no message, no card. I had pried away the box from the _pink_ bear’s arms and tried to sniff the chocolates, although I knew poisons won’t leave a telltale smell like that. I still left it to a side, untouched.

 

And what about the fact that the delivery had been to a ‘Mr Arthur Eames’?

 

The words kept bouncing around in my head like they were the only words I had ever heard in all of the near thirty five years of my existence.

 

“Arthur?”

 

Eames entered the living room, half naked, and rubbing the sleep from his face. He took one look at the flowers and the chocolate and the bear ( _pink_ bear) and exclaimed a despairing, “Oh _shit_!”

 

“I have no idea who sent it, I swear,” I said hastily and dropped the bouquet to the floor. I was still thinking ‘ _Mr Arthur Eames_ ’ so hard that it didn’t strike me that there was an off chance that maybe, just maybe someone had sent them for Eames and gotten our names mixed up or something. After all, Eames never gave out his real first name. He pretended that he was mononymous. Maybe someone had badgered him about it and he had told a random stranger that his name was Arthur Eames. I’m not naturally a jealous or suspicious guy but the rueful expression on Eames face made me think that Eames knew what was going on better than I did and that maybe he knew who had sent the whole thing. It wasn’t that I suspected of seeing someone on the side – not at all. I knew how hard he loved me. Such an idea was ridiculous and laughable. But Eames was such a beautiful human being that there was no telling who would fall in love with him where and when. And Eames, being Eames, won’t tell me that I had reason to get territorial over him because he has this idea that I get violent when I am possessive and he worries about my blood pressure. I don’t know why he thinks that.

 

“Oh, darling,” Eames replied, turning his remorseful eyes from the bouquet to me, “of course you do. It was for you – I sent it, of course.”

 

“Oh,” I replied, feeling like a numbskull again. I swear I’m not so thick-skulled most days. The level of stupidity I was exhibiting today? I promise that is an exception rather than the norm.

 

“Bloody slept through the whole morning, didn’t I?” he stretched his arms and yawned. “Fell behind the schedule – and the whole week had gone on so well, too.”

 

“Schedule?”

 

 _Mr Arthur Eames_ , my mind whispered to me. I knew this was significant somehow but my thought processes were still struggling to catch up with the situation at hand.

 

Eames looked pained. “I knew I was going to mess up if I had too much vodka. But it was bloody good vodka.”

 

“The sex was mind-blowing.”

 

Something that made Eames chuckle, finally.

 

He stepped closer to me and pulled me in a loving embrace. I hugged him back hard. I liked hugs when they came from him. I bloody loved having him in my arms. This was okay, this was familiar.

 

“Darling,” he said as he pulled back just enough to see me, “this was supposed to be more romantic – breakfast in bed and all. Make love to you after feeding you just like that time back in London,” my throat constricted with feeling, “and then pop the surprise on you, hoping you said yes in the afterglow just because the sex is _mind-blowing_.” That roguish grin will be the death of me. “And the first thing you got delivered after saying yes would be the flowers and the chocolate and I felt I was overshooting thinking you’d actually _change_ names but it seemed like the perfect idea when I was ordering...”

 

 _Mr Arthur Eames_ , I repeated over and over in my head like a broken record.

 

“Yes,” I choked out. I grabbed his face between my shaky hands and kissed him hard. I was trembling all over now, not just my hands. I felt his arms tighten around me as he let me maul his mouth, soothing me the best he could with his lips and tongue. “Yes to name,” I said breathlessly before kissing him again. “Yes to everything.”

 

He backed me into the couch, his cock hard as he stripped off his pants. I tore off my clothes quickly and pulled him on top of me. I wanted his skin on mine. I wanted him naked as the day he was born. He was mine, all mine.

 

“Haven’t had time to brush yet, sorry,” he said between kissing me all over my face.

 

“Fuck you, you scheming bastard,” I replied hoarsely, couldn’t help how close I was to tears. He gave that raspy, short-winded laugh of his as he looked at me, blue eyes shining with adoration.

 

“I love you,” he whispered as he kissed the treacherous tear that spilled over. “Thank you, Arthur. I will fulfil your every wish; make you the happiest man I can.”

 

My face was a flaming red and one tear was followed by a few more but I couldn’t look away from his gorgeous, breath-taking eyes. My throat was tight and closed and I sniffled. I couldn’t speak just yet. I was too overwhelmed to speak. Words didn’t seem enough at all. I touched him everywhere my hands could reach, rubbing, squeezing, caressing and pressing as close to his body as I could.

 

He kissed my neck as his hands caressed my body and then stroked me lovingly between my legs. His broad fingers weighed my sac and then he brushed his thumb over the extremely sensitive point under my cock. My fingers tightened around his balls and I hooked my leg over his waist.

 

“Eames,” I tugged back his head by his ears, his hair was not long enough to be grasped like that. He lifted his head from my nipple and gave me a smouldering look before kissing my chin. “Haven’t got you a gift,” I couldn’t help moaning as he started pumping my cock. “So sorry.”

 

Eames kissed wetly up my jaw to my ear. “But you have, Arthur,” he said, thrusting into the circle of my fist as I thumbed his slit. “You said yes.”

 

I swear this man has no sense of when his sweet cheesiness is too much. But the thing is, this is him as he is. This is Victor Eames, and he isn’t deliberately aiming for cheesy or sweet. He just is.

 

I let go of his cock and he took both of ours in his hand, jerking us off together. I grasped his ass and pushed our hips further together, grinding and rocking into the crescendo towards our release. “I love you,” I told him passionately as he mouthed at my cheek and jaw. “I love you, I love you,” I repeated it like a prayer, like it was the only reality left in my life anymore.

 

Afterwards, he made a short trip back to the bedroom, butt naked and cum-stained, despite my whining protests. It hurt to let go of him for even a second. He returned with the telltale velvet blue jewellery box. I sat up, as naked as him, and he plopped down on the couch beside me.

 

“It was supposed to be more romantic,” he said as he slipped on the simple platinum band around my left ring finger, “and on _schedule_.”

 

I thought about how I hadn’t figured he had a thing going on all week till I had taken a look at the extra-smart bathroom music system this morning. I thought about how that was because Eames was always so bloody good to me, it hadn’t struck me out of the ordinary when he had decided to do something special to court me all week leading up to the Valentine’s day when he planned to pop the question. I thought about how it had hit me like a ton of bricks when I had heard that delivery man call me ‘Mr Arthur Eames’ and how right it had felt, how much like home, like everything I had craved for all my life without knowing it.

 

I took the matching pair from the box and got onto my knees in front of him. His cock was kind of in my face, bushy brown pubic hair and big sac and all, but just for once I was drawn more to his beautiful, beautiful face and staring into his lovely blue eyes. A fierce happiness surged up inside me as he looked a little taken aback at first but soon realisation followed and his face broke into a dazzling smile. In a single moment, I fell in love with him all over again.

 

“Victor Eames,” I said, holding out my hand for his, “will you marry me?”

 

 

**Finis**

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day 2016!


End file.
